


Captured By The Game

by accidentalrambler



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: F/M, NSFW, Nessian - Freeform, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, although there might be some plot later, and more porn because DUH, escort AU, nessian smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-19
Updated: 2018-07-28
Packaged: 2018-08-31 23:22:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8597818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/accidentalrambler/pseuds/accidentalrambler
Summary: She likes pretty things but she also likes him. Most unfortunate since he pays her to have sex with him. It probably makes her screwed in more ways than one.All-human escort AU.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is basically shameless porn without plot and a one-shot but I might decide to expand it in the future. Title inspired by 'The Hunter Gets Captured By The Game' by Massive Attack.
> 
> Hope you like :)

* * *

 

Nesta likes pretty things.

Not the ones of diamond and designer variety - although they are most welcome too, there’s no need to lie about it. 

But what she likes even more is the two-bedroom apartment she shares with her younger sister, Elain, and Georgetown law school she can afford with minimal student loans. 

And then there’s Cassian. He’s not pretty - by any means - and Nesta lets out an inelegant snort just imagining this pouty male outrage that would undoubtedly tinge his stupidly handsome face if she were to call him that. 

He looks at her, question flashing through those hazel eyes with lashes so long they cast shadows onto his cheeks in the dim light of the hotel room - but Nesta has no wish to explain, no need to talk at this particular moment while he’s buried so deliciously deep inside of her. And he’s doing that thing with his hips that sends another wave of heat up her belly and makes her nails dig harder into his back. 

His mouth open slightly, a hoarse groan escaping them but she can almost see the words that are about to roll off his tongue. And perhaps it’s ridiculous but she just doesn’t want to talk and there’s this need set like marrow in her bones to keep her thoughts to herself, whatever they are. So she does the only thing that can prevent Cassian from voicing his curiosity at the moment and her hand sinks into dark strands grazing the nape of his neck while her lips latch onto his and she swallows his gasp of surprise.

She’s never kissed him before.

And another problem arises because Nesta actually likes the way his tongue tangles with hers and then his taste - his taste is overwhelming and thrilling and potent like a well-aged wine. She likes his scruff grazing her chin and delicate skin around her mouth. Just like she likes his rough hands exploring every inch of her body as if all he ever wished to do was learn all the curves and valleys and texture by heart.

More than that - and all that much problematic - she enjoys how he draws her a bath after their Wednesday all-nighters and how they always bicker before they land in bed; or on the floor, in the shower and sometimes against the wall. And Cassian acts all indignant when he states she should be nicer to him - he pays her, after all. Which always grants the same response from her because yes, he _does_ pay her but only to have sex with him and there’s no paycheck in the world high enough to propel her into being nice to him.

His fingers press into her thigh as he throws her leg over his shoulder and the change of angle tears a rugged moan from her. Her inner muscles clench around his cock, _hard_ and he grunts into her mouth, hoarse syllables of air that align themselves into her name.

Nesta.

_Nesta, Nesta, Nesta._

“Look at me,” he demands with a hot breath on her neck and she actually succeeds to resist but then, oh - _just screw him_ \- his thrusts turn slower and more shallow when she needs it fast and messy and deep. So Nesta does the only logical thing and glares at him with a snarl almost rolling off her tongue. But when their eyes meet, he flickers his thumb across her swollen clit and tilts his hips just _right_ so that he hits her g-spot and her breath gets stuck in her throat as the most wrecking orgasm ripples through her body.

His growl resounds in her ear and he bits on her lobe as her inner walls tighten and spasm around his length and then he lets go and follows right behind her, prolonging her pleasure with the last few thrusts before he shudders with his release.  


They’re lying like this for a while, a mess of tangled limbs and sweat and mingled breaths, their foreheads touching and eyes closed.

And Nesta lets out an inaudible sigh because her problem is much deeper than she dared to think.

She likes pretty things and there’s nothing prettier than a stack of money Cassian leaves under the hotel room pillow in the morning.

But she also likes how heavy he feels against he body and that her muscles are still quivering after coming _so fucking hard_ and she even likes that smug grin usually curling his lips during their verbal sparring.

With a soft kiss placed under her jaw - a gesture so out of place in their situation and yet it still makes her skin prickle in anticipation - he sets his gaze on her and it burns and wakes that troublesome fluttering down in her stomach.

It is then when she knows that what makes her well and truly fucked is not the fact that Cassian’s still buried in her to the hilt - and already hardening fast.

It’s the fact that she’s not sure what she likes more - these pretty Benjamin Franklins he pays her or - 

Or him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nesta and Cassian attend a public function where they can't exactly keep their hands off each other. Elevator smut ensues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for Nessian Smut Week, theme: public sex. 
> 
> Please let me know what you think ;)

Getting ready is a ritual.

 

The sleek fabric of stockings smooths over her legs as she slowly rolls them up and the lace of the garter belt brushes against her skin; like a touch of luxury, one that keeps her composed and grounded in her role.

 

A drop of perfume behind her ears and on her wrists - _her_ favourite, not his.

 

Because she might get paid in return for her body but she's still her own person. And no one, neither Cassian nor her other clients, will tell her how she should behave or what to like.

 

Not that there are so many of those other clients nowadays.

 

It hasn’t happened overnight and Nesta’s actually quite angry with herself for allowing it but Cassian has steadily sneaked his way into her week. From a good old regular once-a-week, he upgraded to weekly meetings. It wasn’t enough though and so, he proposed a weekend all-nighter. Nesta put her foot down, arguing weekends were the best for business. A whole night with one man whose overgrown ego overrode his common sense just wasn’t worth it, she stated to Cassian - and fuck, but she could still remember the fire in his eyes as he pinned her to the wall and showed her just how _justified_ that ego of his was.

 

Still, they did manage to agree on Wednesdays. Not that it mattered since Cassian simply started to request her for all the weekend events he attended, the paycheck too generous for her agency to pass up.

 

She’s getting ready for one of these events right now, some corporate shindig in Ritz-Carlton that’s more about stroking the right egos than actually having a good time. Slipping on her midnight blue dress like an armor of silk and lace.

 

Who will notice her bored expression with that slit going all the way to her mid-thigh? Who’ll recognize the subtle scrunching of her nose as a sign of disgust her neckline dipping low between her breasts? Why would Cassian bother asking her all these troublesome personal questions if he can play with the lace covering her otherwise bare back?

 

With a satisfied smirk, Nesta puts a layer of raspberry lipstick on her lips and grabs her purse before leaving the penthouse suite Cassian rented for the night. She intends to bring him to his knees tonight, to have a little revenge for all those _inconvenient_ feelings he makes her think about.

 

The game is _on_.

* * *

 

Nesta regrets wearing the dress.

 

Well, regret might be a strong word but then again, she’s not exactly sure how to describe that feelings she gets when Cassian’s hand casually dips under the table and under the hem of blue silk, his fingers playing with the lacy edge of her stockings. She gasps, covering it with a little cough as few of the guests at their table look at her questioningly.

 

Cassian’s business partner, Azriel, just smiles under his nose as if he knew exactly what caused her reaction.

 

Nesta loses the capacity to care though once her date (how easy it is to call him that in her mind, how _normal_ ) slips her fingers higher, teasing the edge of her barely-there thong. Cassian’s hand wanders under the material and she traps it there with a squeeze of her thighs, thankful that the table seems wide enough to hide what happens underneath.

 

“Why so tense, sweetheart?” he smirks at her move, pressing more firmly against her core.

 

And Nesta hates it, hates it so much that she has to bite into her lower lip to stifle a groan that threatens to escape her mouth and clutch her muscles even harder around his hand.

 

Friction, that’s what she needs. Possibly an orgasm or ten. But for now, she’ll take revenge.

 

Slow sensual smile graces her face as she digs into the delicious creme brulee set before her, a low - and very intentional -  moan brushing past her lips, the heavenly flavour invading her taste buds. Going with the punch, her own hand closes around his thigh, admiring the sculpture of his muscles with deliberate press of her palm. She can hear Cassian draw in a breath and satisfaction lights up her eyes as she casually converses with an elderly couple sitting on the opposite end. But then -

 

Then his fingers stroke along her wet slit and again she’s the one to grit her teeth and fighting for composure because he doesn’t stop there, no - he keeps going, the material of her panties growing damp while he teases and rubs and flicks around her clit, arousal coiling in her belly and she needs -

 

Oh, she _needs_.

 

Cassian almost spills his drink when she shifts her hand to cup him, feeling him hardening as she runs her hand along his length.

 

“You minx.” His breath warms her cheek as he leans over to whisper in her ear, his tongue grazing her sensitive skin in a move so quick, she’s pretty convinced she’s just imagined it.

 

Raising her brow, Nesta joyously pops another bite of dessert into her mouth while her fingers continue to outline his cock under his slacks. “Perhaps I am,” she teases while giving him a particularly strong rub. “The question is - “ she presses harder, “what are you going to do about it?”

 

Cassian tugging her hand away and leaving without a word is not what she expects at all but she meets the surprised looks of other guests with her usual cold mask, trying to control the fire that her partner set in her body with his touch. She takes a generous sip of wine - because screw propriety, she needs alcohol to beat this - when her phone beeps and a message pops up.

 

_Meet me in the lobby in five._

 

Perhaps the table party knows exactly what she’ll do once she walks out of here or maybe not - and honestly Nesta doesn’t care, she just knows she’s already missing the warmth of his hands in the inside of her thighs.

 

So she stands up.

* * *

 

They do meet by the lobby and the last coherent thought Nesta remembers is that Cassian looks _kind of_ handsome with that evening scruff and how _good_ it will feel with head buried between her thighs.

 

And then she doesn’t think at all because before she knows, she’s pinned against the elevator wall and he’s pressing the stop button between the floors and she probably should worry whether there are any security cameras here but she really is passed that point, they can watch her for all she cares, she just needs -

 

She needs him.

 

“This - ” Cassian rasps an answer to her earlier teasing, covering her neck in rough biting kisses, “- this is what I’ll do about it.” His mouth paints a scorching path down her sternum, his hands tugging up her dress and Nesta really wants to say something dismissive, something that won’t matter.

 

But all she does is rake her fingers through his raven hair, pulling at the curls when he gets on his knees and laces one of her legs over his shoulder, the scrap of her thong ripped off and hid in his pocket in seconds.

 

Nesta was right - his scruff feels _amazing_ against the inside of her thighs.

 

She whimpers because Cassian doesn’t play around this time, no - his tongue sweeps over her slit and then slides into her folds, swirling and licking and sucking while his thumb circles her clit in long expert touches. Her skin is on fire and she shudders and clenches around his tongue, her hips rocking against him involuntarily, her body desperate for release while her nails dig into his shoulder so hard, they nearly draw blood.

 

Frustrated cry resounds from deep in her throat when Cassian pulls away, her arousal glistening around his mouth as his eyes, still hazel but so dark with lust, rake over her heaving trembling form and settle on her flushed face. “Not loud enough,” he states, his gravelly voice scraping against her skin. “I want you - “ he goes on, now trailing his tongue up until it lingers around her clit. “To - “ Another almost-lick that makes her dig her foot into his back. “Scream for me, Nesta Archeron,” he finishes, her name falling from his lips like a soft caress and then she does scream because -

 

Because his mouth close over her clit and there’s this little graze of his teeth that just makes her go mad and he knows it, knows it will send her over the edge, grip of her hands on him rough, her back arched.

 

“Cass - “ Nesta screams, Nesta sings, Nesta prays. And she knows she’s so screwed because it shouldn’t feel like more than an orgasm and his name shouldn’t have such a glorious aftertaste in her mouth.

 

But it does.

 

So when she slumps pliant and exhausted into his arms and Cassian carries her to their penthouse, whispering soft nothings in her ear, there’s a satisfied but wary smile curling Nesta’s lips.

 

Because she brought him to his knees tonight like she’d wanted to.

 

But so did he.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassian invites Nesta to his summerhouse in Maine. To his utter surprise, she agrees.
> 
> And then everything changes for both of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the lovely messages I got regarding this fic! I'm so happy you're enjoying it so far ;)
> 
> Hope you like this one!

Cassian can’t quite believe she’s here with him.

He’s not exactly sure what he expected when he invited Nesta to spend a week away with him but as always, she managed to surprise him.

She said  _ yes _ .

The elevation he feels, this euphoric flutter in his stomach gets crushed as soon as he realizes it must’ve been an offer too lucrative to refuse. 

But then again, _ why does he care? _

He’s never been one for attachments, Rhys and Az the only family he’s ever needed - and those two are a handful already. 

But then Nesta Archeron waltzed into his office, all heels and trench coat, and only bare skin underneath. In the most glorious cosmic mix-up to ever grace his life, she barged in and shrugged off her Burberry frock, rendering Cassian mute and his jaw dropped during an important business call. A strangled shriek escaped her mouth as she realized her mistake and she fled from his office as promptly as she appeared, a subtle scent of her exotic perfume lingering in the air.

Naturally, he went after her. And Nesta faced with him her head held high, her composure steel and unwavering as if he hadn’t just seen her naked. Unimpressed with his easy jokes and his confident (although she’d probably call it cocky) demeanor, she proved to be a worthy opponent right from the start.

No feelings, no strings attached, no sharing of their personal lives. The rules were simple enough - the deal was struck.

Only a few months have passed since that moment.

And instead of meeting Nesta in some fancy hotel room as per their rules, he’s taking her to his summerhouse in Maine.

Well,  _ shit _ .

Perhaps he’s lost his goddamn mind.

 

* * *

 

 

It’s Monday when the strangest thought strikes him.

Warm breeze brushes their skin as they walk by the sea, feet coated by sand and caressed by water from tide to tide. Nesta’s wearing a sundress of deep crimson, her skin adorned with freckles in the most  _ interesting  _ places, a tiny bit of lace peeking out of her cleavage. 

Cassian’s just considering tracing those little sun-kissed specks with his finger, or maybe tongue, determined to find out if there are any more hidden for him to count with his touch, when another thought - a more disturbing one - invades his mind.

He  _ likes  _ her.

He likes Nesta.

Or maybe even - 

_ No _ .

But he likes the way she closes her eyes and her face softens as she tilts back her head, seeking the last warm sunrays of the afternoon.

A strap falls from her shoulder and she does nothing to pull it back up - he sees her so peaceful and relaxed for the very first time and it knocks the breath out of his lungs.

Always - she’s always so immaculately dressed, to the point of being annoyingly perfect, and it leaves Cassian to ponder all the ways he can dishevel her, rid her of all this silk and lace.

Of course, he also likes those little scraps of lace Nesta wears, the flimsy ones he can tear down with his teeth. It usually ends with his head buried between her thighs - spread wide and trembling - and her fingers buried in his hair.

He likes those fingers combing through his hair too.

There are so many things - little everyday things that he’s found to like about her and it’s as if she’s settled in this house, settled by...his side.

Ridiculous thought.

But -

 

But -

 

But  _ Nesta _ .

_ Nesta  _ borrowing his leather band to pull up her hair in a messy bun.

_ Barefoot Nesta,  _ tiptoeing so she can reach his neck and haul him down for a kiss.

Nesta who is clad in his shirt  _ only _ , her ivory skin still tinged with a pretty pink blush, her breathing becoming less erratic as she recovers from coming on his tongue.

Every hour comes with another precious detail and Cassian has grown greedy, so greedy for more hours - days - months, so that he can discover them one by one. 

He finds he wants her to be greedy about him as well.

_ Shit _ .

He really did lose his goddamn mind.

 

* * *

 

 

He asks her on a Wednesday evening.

Perhaps it’s not the best time, with their breathing laboured and clothes scattered all over the floor after they’ve just fucked against the kitchen counter. Nesta’s busy licking the remnants of cream off her fingers, completely comfortable in her nakedness. Her hair is a golden-brown mess framing her gorgeous face, a corner of her mouth curling up in a satisfied smirk - probably from remembering how she’s made him fall apart under her tongue just moments ago. 

It makes him greedy again, this image of her, and before Cassian can stop himself, he asks, “Why...why escort? Why do you do what you do?” 

His voice is so hoarse he almost doesn’t recognize it.

Nesta tenses visibly, a flicker of something flashing through her eyes. Reaching down for his shirt, she puts it on, a clear message for Cassian that she’s not going to have this conversation standing bare ass naked in the kitchen. 

He pulls on his pants and waits for her to speak, trying to ignore a rush of possessiveness at the sight of Nesta  in his clothing. 

Seconds pass in silence, one that makes the sound of sea-waves hitting the shore so clear, so distinct. It seems she’s content to let it continue, her teeth biting into her lower lip until finally, she shifts, her gaze all ice and steel when it rests on him. “I hope you realize you have no right to know things about me just because you pay me,” she says, her tone sharp.

“I do. I just thought that after all these months - ,” Cassian trails off, raking fingers through his hair.

The nervous gesture draws her attention, her eyes following the movement of his hand. When she catches herself staring, she quickly averts her gaze, clears her throat as she speaks, “You just thought that what? That we’re friends now? I don’t have friends, Cassian. I have clients.” 

“That’s just depressing.”

“That’s just the way things are. I’ve learnt to be practical about it,” she sighs, plopping herself up on the counter.

Nesta’s voice is tinged with sadness, the fact that angers him for some reason when really - he shouldn’t care. 

But he just cannot help that he does.

“It must get lonely sometimes,” he states, watching her carefully. With a few tentative steps, he inches closer, until he stands between her legs.

She doesn’t tell him to go to hell.

“It’s - ,” she glances at his hands which are currently palming her thighs, “- it’s fine. And I’m not completely alone. I have a sister. Two, actually.”

This makes Cassian smile. “I have two brothers.”

A knowing grin stretches her lips. “Are they like you? Your poor mother. You all must’ve been a handful growing up.”

He smacks her leg for this. “Now you’re just being mean, Nesta sweetheart.”

“Please.” She rolls her eyes. “I’ve spent months with you, you cannot convince me otherwise.” 

“I’ll tell you about my family if you tell me about yours,” Cassian shots back, cocking his eyebrow in a silent challenge. He notes a shadow that clouds her gaze for a second, the way her hands clutch at the countertop. Subconsciously, he busies himself with drawing circles on her skin, as if he could coax her into answering - and indeed, she relaxes slightly under his touch.

“Fine.” Comes her resigned response.

It’s like music to his ears.

Letting out another suffering sigh, Nesta starts her tale. She tells him about her two younger sisters, Elaine and Feyre. Chastises him with one look when he it seems like he’s trying to get away with withholding information about himself.

Satisfaction licks at his insides at her inquiry - she’s as interested in his life as Cassian is with hers. And so, he tells Nesta of his foster brothers, Azriel and Rhys, the latter’s mother taking them in when they were twelve years old. 

She tells him about her fights with Feyre and how her youngest sister fled to Europe as soon as she turned eighteen.

He tells her about his stepfather, about alcohol and arguments, and hidden bruises and his mother’s death.

She tells him about her disappointment of a father, her cheeks flushing red from anger as she speaks.

There’s no faux pity in Nesta’s gaze when he tells her of his childhood nor any feigned remorse as she recounts her relationship with Feyre over the years. It’s probably what lures him into sharing even more, into asking all the questions that spring into his mind. Gradually, they draw closer together, sinking into each other’s embrace - Nesta’s nuzzling into the crook of his neck, Cassian tracing patterns on the inside of her wrist with his thumb. They talk well into the night and this overwhelming greed he’s been feeling lately might not be fully satisfied (yet) but at least, a monster has been fed. 

And when it’s well past midnight and another kind of hunger wakes in his body, with Nesta’s tongue starting a path down his neck - Cassian hauls her up into his arms, hooking her legs around his waist.

They barely making it to the bedroom but when they do, the air shifts and it’s like all the rush between them dissipates and it turns into something else entirely.

It turns into her fingers slowly unfastening his shirt, button by button, until it pools around her feet.

It grows into his mouth covering every inch of her body as he presses her into the mattress and her soft whimpers fill the room.

It transforms into her hands gripping the sheets when Cassian finally sheaths himself in her, so hard and deep, until she’s trembling and quivering around him and they’re falling apart and-

And his hands cover hers.

It becomes  _ them _ , two bodies molded together as they drift into sleep, Nesta’s head in the crook of his neck, Nesta’ hair brushing against his cheek, Nesta’s little fist resting on his chest.

Cassian breathes in her scent, the same exotic one that filled his office all those months ago, and a strange sense of peace settles into him bone-deep. Whatever the morning brings, tomorrow will be different. Something’s changed between them and it should be such a terrifying thought but this prickling in his skin as Nesta lies next to him isn’t dread.

It’s hope.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *rubs hands nervously* So...what did you think of this one? Please, share your thoughts with me :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After their mini vacation in Maine, Nesta and Cassian fall down deeper down the rabbit hole. The lines get blurred and things get complicated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here I am with chapter 4 after approximately 84 years. I hope you like ;)

* * *

 

 

Her job is all about mastering emotions. Reading a client well can be all the difference between a one-time gig and gaining a regular. Knowing when to reveal and when to hold back, perfecting the art of appearances - it’s like dancing a line between prosperity and going out of business.

 

And Nesta? Nesta is good at it. Excellent even, if her bank accounts are something to go by. She’s become adept at wrapping her intellect up in a pretty little veil of seductive glances and polite conversation - if need be. She’s learnt to fool the customers into thinking they’re the hunters and not the prey.

 

Nesta’s own emotions have always been her worst enemy. It’s always been too much and too deeply - her feelings a burning pyre that would burn her if she got too close. So she wrapped them up too, in concrete and ice, and never bothered to explain herself to the world. To anyone.

 

But with Cassian, it just doesn’t seem to work that day.

 

He looks at her - _really_ looks at her, in a way that makes Nesta shiver under his gaze because it’s as if he can see that fire burning below the surface. They play a game but it’s not the one she usually plays and it throws her off her aim. Unlike with her other clients, she doesn’t put up an act for his comfort and convenience. They are what they are, a paid company and her client, and she doesn’t trouble herself with pretending otherwise.

 

She knows Cassian can take it, a worthy opponent that he is in that strange dance they’re doing.

 

It all confuses the hell out of Nesta.

 

And after Maine? The lines have been blurred. In a way that she cannot control - and it’s like they can’t go back now.

 

Which is probably why, instead of meeting Cassian for their regular Wednesday meeting at the hotel room, Nesta finds herself on the way to his place right after her classes. When he called her earlier, saying he had a long week ahead and didn’t feel like sneaking to a hotel room, and then asked if they could meet at his apartment instead, she could’ve said no. She _should have_ said no. She had a huge midterm tomorrow that she still needed to revise for. But somehow, Nesta couldn’t bring herself to decline.

 

She _wanted_ to see him.

 

 _How deep I have fallen_ , Nesta thinks as she rides an elevator up to Cassian’s floor, her heart pounding in her chest. She didn’t even have time to go change after her class and now she’s left without her usual armor - a fitting dress and a lace flimsy piece underneath. She hates how clammy her hands feel, the cool surface of the door burning against her clenched fist as she knocks, fixing the bag that’s sliding off her shoulder, it’s so heavy with books.

 

Taking in a deep breath, she tries to find a steady ground, to calm herself. Attempts to steel her features so that she can face him, so that she can face what _they_ are.

 

Cassian is her client. What they have is a business transaction.

 

But maybe the problem doesn’t lie in what they are. Maybe -

 

The door flies open and it takes every little bit of willpower Nesta has to stop her breath from hitching.

 

“Nesta.” Her name is a low purr on Cassian’s tongue and a wave of heat pulls low in her belly. His jeans hang low on his hips, the v-cut of his stomach visible with his dress shirt thrown on loosely. He’s barefoot, his dark curls are damp and there are droplets of water running down his torso - he must’ve just got out of the shower.

 

Her throat is a little dry when she says, “Will you let me in at some point or will you just stand there, gawking at me the entire night?”

 

Cassian’s smile is a bit too knowing, as is he’s realized just how much retrain it takes on her part not to pounce on him. Stepping from the door to let her through, he hovers over her, his mouth brushing against her earlobe when he says, “Always such a delight to be around, Nesta.”

 

“You don’t pay me to be delightful,” Nesta shots back and regrets it almost immediately. Regrets it as she notes the shadow passing his eyes.

 

But she’s said it on purpose. It’s been necessary to remind him what they are and what they are not.

 

Necessary to remind _herself_ of that too.

 

But despite these warnings and all the precautions, Nesta can’t help a spike of curiosity as she crosses the threshold and is led further into the apartment. Much to her surprise, the colours are light and warm, unlike the boudoir reds and dark wood she’s imagined. Yet unsurprisingly, the whole area is as messy as she’s predicted.  

 

There’s a rueful smile playing on Cassian’s lips as he watches her taking in her surroundings. Brow raised daringly, he drawls, “Go ahead, sweetheart. Say what you think. I can see that you’re itching to.”

 

Shooting him a quick glare, Nesta makes a spectacle of scrutinizing the open space of the living room. Her gaze stops at the enormous bookcase stretching along one wall and she panics a little when she recognizes some of her favourite titles at the very front. Her love for books is something personal. Nesta so doesn’t want to find out that it is something Cassian and her share.

 

“I’m just wondering - ,” she trails off, her voice a perfect blend of stern and mocking, “wondering how it’s possible that you can afford me but not a cleaning company to take care of this mess.”

 

It’s been a wrong thing to say. Something predatory flickers in Cassian’s eyes, something that tells Nesta he’s going to make her pay for her words with his tongue and his hands, until she’s a quivering mess of flesh and bones.

 

She _almost_ lets herself laugh when he cuts the distance between them and throws her over his shoulder.

 

Almost.

 

* * *

 

 

The tour of Cassian’s bedroom is speedy and soon, Nesta is sprawled on his bed, her shirt open, with a very bare chested Cassian covering her body. His kisses are urgent and rough, only to switch to slow and gentle moments later.

 

But as much as Nesta loves the feel of his lips on hers, tonight she has trouble getting into it. Her gaze flickers to her abandoned bag and the stack of books peaking out of it, and it’s not the first time she’s done it since leaving it on the floor.

 

The pressure of Cassian’s lips lessens and then his forehead is pressed to hers, their breaths mingling together. “What is it?” he lets out, his voice with a bit of gravel to it.

 

“Nothing.”

 

“Nesta,” he says sternly, letting out a small grunt as he tears himself away from her and plops onto his back. “Talk to me. Please.”

 

 _Please_ . There’s something in the way he says it and Nesta knows this time it might actually be better if she’s honest. “ _Ihaveanexamtomorrow_ ,” she mumbles in one breath.

 

Cassian’s fingers tangle into her hair, threading through them softly as if she was a spooked animal that needed soothing. The feeling’s extremely pleasant, so much that Nesta closes her eyes before speaking. “I have an exam tomorrow - business law midterm - and I’m stressing out a bit and I’m feeling guilty over ditching study time to come here.”

 

After letting out resigned drawn out breath, Cassian rolls over her again, his face just inches from her own. “You should’ve told me, Nesta.” Something resembling sadness flickers in his eyes. “We could’ve rescheduled. I wouldn’t have insisted on meeting. I wished that you knew that.”

 

“I - ,” Nesta starts explaining but how can she? She can’t very well tell him she wanted to see him anyway. It’s best that he thinks she just felt obligated because of their deal.

 

Cassian waits, sighing when she doesn’t say anything more, and then hops off the bed only to grab her bag. “Alright then - ,” he says as he tosses her textbooks onto the bed, a strange kind of resolve colouring his tone, “let’s get to it. Make yourself comfortable sweetheart. Professor Cassian is here. And you’ve been _a very bad_ student, Miss Archeron.”

 

“Excuse me? I’m telling you I’m stressing over the exam and your answer is roleplay?”

 

“Nah. Just thought I’d help you revise, Nes. Roleplay is an added bonus.” He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively.

 

“Don’t. Call. Me. Nes.”

 

“Is this the way to address your professor, Miss Archeron? Think twice before you answer. I might just spank you.”

 

He’s so ridiculous, with his faux haughty tone, his hair mussed from her fingers and a business law textbook pressed to his naked chest - that Nesta cannot help the laugh that escapes her mouth. It’s short and raw, as if she didn’t use it in quite some time but it doesn’t fail to light up Cassian’s eyes with a playful spark. And the way he looks at her in this moment? The retort rolls of her tongue even before she realizes that she’s decided to play along. “I know more on this subject than you, _Professor_ . Pretty sure it will be _me_ spanking _you_.”

 

Cassian grins, his finger tracing a path up her leg as they sit opposite each other on the bed. “I guess we will see about that, Miss Archeron.”

 

* * *

 

 

In the end, no one spanks anyone. Nesta finds herself a bit disappointed about that.

 

Cassian surprises her again. She’s always known he’s smart but she had no idea how much he‘s familiar with her academic interests. Over the next few hours, he goes over her exam materials, asking questions about different doctrines, rules of jurisdiction and contract law and most of the time, he doesn’t even use her textbook. They argue and bicker and when she answers, he uses the best of his arsenal to distract her. With his fingers diving under the hem of her skirt. With his tongue licking at his lower lip as he stares at her mouth, as if he tried to remember the shape it forms for every word that she says. With his teeth nibbling on her ear.

 

Before Nesta realizes, it gets late and it’s time for her to go. But as she reaches to do up her shirt, Cassian’s hand on her knee stills her movements. Their eyes meet in a charged silence of his bedroom.

 

“Stay,” he whispers, “ _if you_ want to.” He doesn’t caress her skin anymore. He doesn’t lick his lips playfully.

 

He doesn’t play games.

 

“Yes,” Nesta croaks.

 

_Yes. Yes. Yes._

 

It’s all so dangerously domestic - how he gives her a clean toothbrush and lends her one of his t-shirts to sleep in. How they tumble together under the covers, exhausted, and then Cassian slides behind her and wraps her in his body.

 

He’s so warm.

 

Nesta tries to sleep but it just isn’t happening. Thoughts on thoughts on thoughts rush through her mind, making her restless. She knows Cassian can’t fall asleep either, not with the way she wriggles in his embrace. But she can’t help but think that they ended up _not_ having sex tonight. And yet, Cassian did manage to convince her to sleep over.

 

With no sex.

 

It isn’t that Nesta feels obligated to sleep with him - people may pay her for sex but she’s promised herself long ago she’d always be the one to call the shots. But if the night progresses this way, another line will be crossed. Irrevocably. And that prompts Nesta to shift in Cassian’s arms and face him, her fingers slowly trailing down his chest, all the way to -

 

“Don’t.” His voice is low and harsh as he catches her hand in his. “Don’t ever do that, Nesta. You don’t have to.”

 

Suddenly her throat feels too dry to speak. “Cassian - “

 

“You have an exam tomorrow. You need rest,” he says, a bit gentler now. “So let’s just go to sleep, alright.” He tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear, his thumb stroking her temple. "We'll talk in the morning."

 

She nods in response. It’s all she can bring herself to do.

 

Slowly, as Cassian’s hands set out to pet her jaw and the curve of her neck and her sides, Nesta drifts into a slumber, as if his touch smoothed away the worry.

 

And her last conscious thought is of them.

 

How the problem doesn’t lie in what they are. An escort and her client.

 

The problem is it’s not _all_ they are.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So what did you think of this one? No smut this time but there will be soon enough! Comment if you feel so inclined ;)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flashback to when Nesta and Cassian meet for the first time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I KNOW it's been... a long time. All I can say is that real life has been challenging these past months and I've been going through a massive writer's block - and writing started to seem more like a chore, not something I love doing. Luckily, it seems like I'm slowly getting out of this place. I can't promise I'll start posting regularly from now on but I can tell you I already have an idea for the next chapter, so it SHOULD BE quicker than...14 months *runs away*
> 
> OK but one more really important thing I need to say - THANK YOU. Just thank you for all your comments, kudos, kinds words and supportive messages; honestly, your support for this little fic is mind-blowing to me and I couldn't be more grateful :)
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

_[A few months ago]_

 

A blast of cool January air hits Nesta the moment she gets out of the building. She tries to maintain as much grace as she can while rushing along the busy midtown sidewalk in nothing but a pair of her favourite Louboutins and a trench coat. All thanks to Roger, one of her regulars, and his idiotic wish for her to visit him at his office so that she could ‘spice up his lunch hour’.

What a fuckwit. Next time, she won’t be spicing up his lunch with anything other than a laxative.

To make matters worse, one of the assistants at the agency must have had the details mixed up and sent her to the wrong office. As soon as she sees her, she’ll have words with Amren, that’s for sure.

In a wave of awareness that’s entirely disconcerting, Nesta realizes flashing a stranger isn’t what mortifies her the most about this situation. Nudity is a part of her job. It’s what she expects. What she dreads more than anything is the unexpected. There’s nothing worse in Nesta Archeron’s world than being surprised and caught off guard.

The man she’s met in the office is the definition of unexpected.

Unsettling. Perplexing.

But perhaps... _not_ unwelcome.

The first thing Nesta noticed were his eyes. Brown with streaks of amber, and widening in surprise as he registered her _very_ naked body. His gaze shot up to her face then and it was all he looked at as he finished the call with whoever was on the line with him when she barged in.

And for a moment, Nesta allowed herself to watch him in return.

He was a sketch of contradictions, sharp lines filled with soft shading. His mouth was full and firm, slowly parting while he looked at her - until his control snapped back in and he focused on her, his lips forming instructions and orders spoken in curt and authoritative tone.

Nesta fled before he finished the phone call.

The last thing she registered as she was slipping back into her coat and retreating were those lips curving in the most irritating grin Nesta had ever seen.

And she didn’t look back.

A mistake, Nesta realizes, when a large calloused hand rests on her shoulder, the touch - firm yet careful - stopping her in her tracks. Shrugging it off, she spins on her feet to face whoever dared to interrupt her escape.

Somehow she knows it’s going to be him even before their eyes meet.

Up close, she begins to notice even more details about him. An expensive suit that he seems to wear like an armour, much like she wears her nudity. Thick black hair that’s styled and perfectly mussed in that way that’s meant to look effortless. And most prominent, that air of self-confidence distinctive of someone who is simply given things and expects them to fall into their lap.

Nesta has never been given anything _just because_ , not unless she spread her legs for it.

Which is probably why her reaction to him is so visceral.

“Just what the hell do you think you’re doing?” she demands with her head held high, shooting daggers at him.

“Going after you, ” he says, then adds as he rolls his eyes, “Obviously.”

“The only thing obvious here is that you should forget about what you saw - “

“Impossible,” he immediately cuts in.

“- and get the fuck back to your office.”

His gaze is pinned to her lips as she forms the words, his own stretching in yet another cocky smirk which seems to be his signature look. But to Nesta’s surprise - yet another one - his demeanor changes to deliberate before he says anything back. “As much as I love spending time in my office...how about a counter-offer? I’m Cassian, by the way. Cassian Nenadović,” he stretches out his hand in greeting.

The gesture hangs between them, heavy with her reluctance to shake his hand. There’s a knowing gleam in Cassian’s eyes, as if he saw right through her and guessed all her reasons.

Which is exactly why Nesta’s so cautious about touching him. In her line of work, she’s used to keeping her emotions under check; to nipping any potential attraction in the bud as if it was her worst enemy. Sometimes, Elain calls her out on it, on what her sister perceives as coldness...insensitivity. And Nesta has made herself get used to that too, wearing her cold half-smile like the toughest armour.

After all, Elain doesn’t know it’s this _coldness_ that’s putting her through college.

But, as cautious as she might be, Nesta knows herself well enough to realize she’ll surely respond to the challenge thrown by the man standing in front of her.

This delicate barely-there flutter in the pit of her stomach when she looks at him? It’s nothing.

The slight hitch in her breathing she registers as he licks his lower lip? _Irrelevant_.

All of it, this whole mess of emotions that would break out from under her skin if she didn’t keep a lid on it and all the possibilities of what he _could_ make her feel, is irrelevant in face of one thing that her practical side screams at her not to ignore - he’s a potential client.

More importantly, judging from his big corner office and custom-made designer suit, Cassian falls somewhere in the _filthy rich_ category, which places him far above Regular Roger and his _comfortably well-off_ status.

In other words, if Nesta plays her cards right - and she always does - this man could be her ticket into financial independency.

It’s that last thought, or so she tells herself, that makes her reach out and shake Cassian’s hand. “Nesta,” she simply states and if he thought for a moment she’d share her full name with him, her tone should leave no doubt she won’t.

“Is that your real name?” Cassian asks, no malice, just curiosity in his voice. His thumb is smoothing over the back of her hand and Nesta allows the contact for a few more seconds before she frees her hand, ignoring goosebumps his touch leaves behind.

She has business negotiations to enter into.

“Does it matter?” Her reply is curt; she feels no need to play coy.

Some women at the agency don’t like revealing their real names to the clients but Nesta has never been one of them. Why would she do it? Using fake name to distance herself from her job always seemed like too much of a weakness to her - if she couldn’t take her client gasping her name as they come without getting attached, she should have no place in this business.

Besides, she meets a lot of people both because of law school as well as her work and keeping track of who knows her as Nesta and who knows her alter-ego is just too much of a hassle, especially when she’s so good at keeping everything easy and neat with her clients.

To her, it doesn’t matter whether they know her as Nesta or Michelle or Claudine. Most often, it’s all the same for them.

Which is why when Cassian shots back with a hard unyielding _yes_ to her question it catches her off guard, if only for a second. But with the weight of his heedful gaze on her, she bounces back quick. “It’s real,” she says in her best _I’ll-take-no-shit-from-you_ voice.

At her tone, a corner of his mouth tilts up, be it in amusement or irritation - she doesn’t care. “Just your name? I don’t get more?” Cassian asks, somewhat playfully.

_Not unless you pay for it. Generously._

It’s not what she says out loud. “You haven’t earned the right to _more_ yet,” she retorts, setting up her game plan for this one.

Nesta knows his type. Young and too rich for his own good, with the whole world (and women) at his feet. She could bet all the carefully saved money on her bank account that he loves the challenge, the chase. Since she wants him coming back for more, she needs to make it look like he’s the one working for it, not her. If he starts perceiving her as too eager, he’ll stop viewing her as a prize to win over and will move on to the next shiny thing.

There’s a curious gleam in Cassian’s eyes in reaction to her words and Nesta knows she got it right.

_Hook, line and sinker._

And if she chooses to ignore a wave of uneasiness spreading through her, a gut feeling that tells her she might just be wrong, that her estimation of him is only skin deep and Cassian is actually so much more - well, that’s her prerogative.

In an elegant, exercised move, Nesta reaches into her small clutch and holds out her business card. “If you want a chance at _more_ , here’s how you reach me. Just keep in mind you might need to wait quite a bit - I have a very tight schedule.”

Smirking, Cassian takes the card from her and swiftly puts it in the front pocket of his suit jacket. Just as Nesta makes a move to turn and walk away, he makes a step towards her, stopping bare inches from where she’s standing. “I do want it. You fascinate me, sweetheart. And I will unwrap you, layer by layer, tight schedule or not,” he says, leaning towards her, his mouth hovering just above her ear.

Nesta gulps, at a loss for words for once. She replies with a glare instead, refusing to put distance between them, to allow him to see that what he's said affected her in any away. Thinking of a perfect come back.

But this time, it’s Cassian who retreats. Nesta hates the triumphant glint flashing in his eyes as he steps away, walking backwards, his hand patting the pocket where he put her business card. No, she didn’t lose just now.

She just hasn’t won _yet_.

“Layer by layer,” Cassian calls out to her one last time before turning away, the picture of casualness as he struts the sidewalk with hands in his pockets.

Sure, life might have just thrown her a curveball in a shape of cocky attractive businessman with smart mouth. A very fit, muscled shape…

But she’s too good at this game to allow a small detail like attraction derail her from her goals. Cassian will be eating out of her hand in no time and he’ll be paying an arm and a leg for it.

 

* * *

 

 

He doesn’t wait three days to call or some other mind-trick bullshit like that. It’s only hours later when Nesta gets a message from her agency with details on a meeting with a new client. They meet at the hotel bar and spend mere minutes discussing the details of their arrangement.

The rules are simple enough - no feelings, no strings attached and no sharing of their personal lives. The deal is struck. And even if Cassian seems suspiciously pliable to her, Nesta doesn’t let it bother her.

Whatever comes her way, she’ll handle it like a pro she is.

Everything will turn out just fine.


End file.
